


To Married Life

by Tempest_Wind



Category: Axis Powers Hetalia, Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: Den/Nor, M/M, Scandinavians, Written in 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:29:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tempest_Wind/pseuds/Tempest_Wind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Denmark and Sweden meet for drinks, and Denmark is already drunk, Sweden knows something has gone terribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Married Life

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece in 2010, and while my writing has improved considerably since then, I'm still rather proud of it.

Sweden arrived at the bar exactly on time, which is why a look of mild confusion crossed his face when he saw Denmark already sitting at the counter. Sweden faltered by the door and took a moment to unwind his scarf. Denmark caught sight of him and offered a cheeky grin and a wave.

“Sve, right on time. Awesome!” Denmark called across the bar.

Sweden hurried over to avoid disrupting the conversations of the other patrons. He took the stool beside Denmark and raised an eyebrow. “Y’early,” he mumbled.

“Got thirsty,” Denmark said and raised his half-empty beer stein.

“’Ow much?” Sweden asked, pulling off his glasses to massage his temple as he discreetly waved down the bartender.

“To drink? Calm down, Sve—I’m not drunk or anything. Only had two or three of these bad boys.” Denmark leaned down on the bar and wrapped his arms around the stein as if it were a plush animal.

The bartender approached to remove the stein from Denmark’s hands. The Dane struggled and flailed his arms as if in slow-motion before the bartender finally protested, “I’ve come to refill it.” Denmark still regarded him with suspicion, but let the glass go.

Sweden, feeling like the only sane one in the building, quietly asked for a lager. 

“Soooo,” Denmark said, turning in his seat so he could lean back against the bar. “How’s ‘married’ life?” he asked and quoted the air for effect.

Sweden regarded him in silence until his lager arrived. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and took a sip from the enormous glass. “S’good,” he said at last.

Denmark snorted and turned to press his forehead against the bar as he wrapped his arms around his head. He peeked up at Sweden sheepishly. “How’d I know you were going to go for the easy answer?” he asked. “Be honest, Sve – this is why we meet up like this.”

“Y’only honest when dr’nk,” Sweden said.

“Hey hey hey, I am always honest,” Denmark pointed out. “I just don’t always tell the whole truth. And you’re one to talk, Mr. I-Don’t… Talk-Much.”

Sweden put down his glass to study the Dane closely. “On’y three?” he asked.

“Okay, maybe I had four or five steins,” Denmark said, waving him off as he turned side-to-side in his stool. “I was bored!” 

Sweden turned his gaze to the shelf of glasses in the back of the bar. He studied the different sizes and shapes before his eyes fell upon the woodwork. Could use some sanding. Probably not made of very good materials. If only the bartender had shopped at IKEA.

It took Sweden a while to realize that Denmark was watching him intently. But just as Sweden opened his mouth to inquire, Denmark’s arm shot out at the bartender past Sweden.

“Youuuuu,” he hissed at the bartender, and then flailed pathetically. “Youuu took my steinnnn. You, you thief you.”

Sweden cleared his throat, adjusted his tie and indicated for the bartender to fetch another drink. Denmark glared at the bartender until his replenished drink arrived. He huddled around the beer like it was a campfire and pressed his hot cheek against the icy glass. He took a sip, perked up and waved his glass in the air. “To married life!” 

Sweden, feeling a bit helpless in the rush of this situation, raised his glass as well.

“May it be filled with strange adopted children and animals, and ‘wives’ who can’t cook.” 

“’E can cook,” Sweden said, although his neutral expression spiraled into squiggly discomfort.

Denmark barked out a laugh. “Yeah, just not well!”

Sweden felt it imperative to change the topic. “How’s single l’fe?”

Denmark’s eyes dulled. He took another gulp of beer before he slammed the stein down on the table, sloshing his sleeve with beer. “Fan-tucking-fastic!” he exclaimed as Sweden fetched some napkins and wiped at the mess. Denmark did little to help, though he didn’t exactly protest.

“I love being single,” Denmark said, leaning back a bit too far in his seat so that Sweden had to catch him and tug him upright. “Single is great. I get to sleep with whoever I want, hang out with whoever I want… It’s… it’s a good thing.”

Denmark raised his stein and barely avoided splashing himself with more beer. “To single life!” he hollered so the whole bar could hear him. The few patrons of the bar leaned in and whispered to one another as they pointed at the Dane. Sweden’s ears reddened, though he felt a sort of fondness for the Dane’s harmless stupidity – it was a huge step forward from the old days.

The bartender came with a stack of napkins and Sweden gave him a grateful look. The Swede very carefully pried the stein out of Denmark’s hand before the Dane could flail and make more of a mess.

“N’how’s Norw’y?” Sweden asked carefully, sensing the loaded question.

Denmark weaved where he sat a long moment before he exclaimed, “Norge! Good ol’ Norge.” He turned quite suddenly and slumped against the Swede’s shoulder. He said several other things which were all muffled by Sweden’s jacket.

Sweden grasped Denmark’s shoulders and very gently pushed him away just enough so that he could hear what the other man was saying.

“—and I know Norway said he wanted to keep it an oper—open. Oh-pen. Open relationship,” Denmark rambled. “And I’m really – I mean, as long as that means I get to see him a couple times a week and we get to do the fun stuff, it’s really okay by me because it’s practically like we’re together again. But then he disappears for about three weeks and I don’t hear from him and the next thing I know, he’s mad at me and he’s thrown out all the stuff I gave him, and then he gets over whatever it is so I try to buy back some of the stuff he got rid of.”

Denmark’s face was blotchy, red and wet although the Swede wasn’t honestly certain if the other man was crying or sweating.

“And I try to be careful about what I say around him, but last night I—ghkk…” Denmark made a sound like dying and sunk in his stool, which would have sent him sprawling on the floor if Sweden didn’t have a firm hold of him.

“Y’what?” Sweden prompted as tenderly as he could muster.

“I-I… I blurted out that I think Norge should move in with me,” Denmark said like a death sentence. “And I mean, I know I broke his trust so much and he’s still trying to get over that. And us moving in together way back in the day was a really BAD idea and I was a demon-monster back then, so I don’t even know what I was thinking.

“I didn’t even mean ‘move in,’” Denmark continued. “I meant I’d clear out a drawer for him and he could put some things in there like pajamas or a change of clothes and a toothbrush since he spends the night so often – when he’s not mad at me – anyway…”

“D’you tell ‘im?” Sweden asked.

“Yeah, after I tried to explain myself about fifty times. All he did was stare at the ceiling. Then he went home.”

Sweden regarded the other man with silence, but Denmark knew that it meant the Swede was thinking. Denmark could practically hear the gears move in the other man’s head.

“Denmark,” Sweden began and looked at his longtime friend whom he counted as his enemy so many times in the past. Denmark wasn’t used to the Swede calling him by name, so he sat upright as well as he could and wobbled only a little.

“T’s hard,” Sweden said. “We ‘ave history.” 

Denmark mused in his drunken haze that the amazing thing about a friendship as old as this one is that words aren’t necessary for communicating thoughts. “Yeah,” Denmark chuckled. “We reallllly screwed up a lot. It’s a wonder they put up with us at all.”

“S’love,” Sweden said.

“Or brain damage,” Denmark replied. He sighed heavily and slumped against the counter. The bartender proceeded to wipe the counter around the prone form of the Dane.

“Sooo, I take it Finland’s still insisting he’s not your wife and all that fun stuff even after you bought him a house with a picket fence and a dog and a son,” Denmark said. “I don’t know how you have the patience for it, Sve, I really don’t.”

Sweden shook his head. “F’nland’s stubb’rn. ‘M glad.”

Denmark sighed and poked at the table. The wood felt cheap and crappy. It was probably bought at IKEA or something.

“I really screwed things up,” Denmark mumbled. “I don’t know if I can face tomorrow knowing that Norway has probably flown to the other side of the world to get away from me, after he’s done burning down his house with all the things I’ve ever given him inside it.” He banged his head on the counter which actually hurt a lot and made him wonder why all the heroes in dramatic movies did something like that.

“C’mon,” Sweden said as he stood. He fished into his wallet and dropped a wad of bills on the counter. “I’ll help y’home,” he said and slid his arm around Denmark’s ribcage to support him as he walked.

Sweden had to practically carry Denmark the three blocks back to the Dane’s apartment. He brought the other man up to the door and made sure the key went into the lock before the Swede bid the Dane farewell with a promise of “next week.”

Denmark wondered if he could survive a full week without any human contact. As he turned the key in the lock he seriously contemplated moving in with Sweden and that crazy Finn as their second surrogate son, never mind the fact that they were all adults. 

Denmark pushed the door open and stumbled onto the landing. He pawed at the light switch before he realized the lights were already on and there was a figure moving in his house. The world swirled as he tried to concentrate and remember if he’d accidentally gone into the wrong apartment again.

“Oh, you’re back,” said a voice that definitely belonged to Norway. Denmark watched through hazy eyes as the Norwegian put a cardboard box down on the couch.

Denmark wondered if the bartender had put something in his drink that caused hallucinations. But this didn’t feel like the symptoms of any drug Denmark knew. So, for the time being, he just stared at Norway.

Norway stared back. “Are you drunk?” Norway asked.

“Completely,” Denmark said. “How’d you get in my apartment?”

“You… gave me the key,” Norway said slowly.

“Oh…” he looked at the box, then back at Norway. The box, Norway. Then he got dizzy and stopped. “Uhhhh, are you robbing me?” he asked, not that he particularly minded.

Norway’s eyebrow twitched. “You asked me to move a few things in, remember?” he said as if speaking to an exceptionally slow child.

Denmark opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened it again. “I have to go puke,” he said and marched out of the room at a sharp left-angle like a shopping cart sailing through a parking lot.

Denmark groaned and his stomach churned like a hamster on a wheel made of lava. He pressed his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet for relief.

“It isn’t going to be like this every day, is it?” Norway asked from the doorway, his arms crossed.

“I promise to be more grateful when I’m sober,” Denmark said with a groan. 

Denmark felt Norway’s cool fingers push away any hairs that stuck to the back of the Dane’s neck from sweat. 

“I have to applaud your determination in binge-drinking,” Norway said. “Your liquor cabinet looks like it’s been ransacked.”

“Why were you in my liquor cabinet?” Denmark said woozily. 

“Got thirsty,” Norway replied.

“Good enough,” Denmark mumbled. Norway’s cool fingers on the back of his neck felt like they were severing all connection to his brain, and it felt good.

“Nnn… tell my stomach to go away. I really want to kiss you right now,” Denmark said.

“I’m sure as hell not kissing you with your face in the toilet bowl and your mouth filled with yesterday’s dinner,” Norway replied. “We can wait until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Denmark breathed. “You—you’ll stay the night?” 

“I lugged my stuff up here, and it’s too late to go all the way back home,” Norway replied.

Denmark pulled back to sit upright. “Norge,” he murmured and reached up to touch the other man’s cheek.

Norway, despite himself, smiled down at Denmark. “But if you puke on me, I’m never speaking to you again.”

“It’s a deal.”


End file.
